Nashville's Sweetheart
by M. Rhae
Summary: Rayna Wyatt wanted it all. She wanted the music, she wanted the stardom, she wanted the freedom, and, most of all, she wanted the guy. A look into the life of 16 year-old Rayna Jaymes and how she became who she is today.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** Hey, y'all! I haven't seen too many stories that focus on Rayna's early days in Belle Meade, so I thought I'd write a story that explores her humble beginnings.

 **To start,** the show is notoriously vague and contradicting as to how Deacon and Rayna met, but in **this story,** they're going to have met in Nashville when Rayna was 16 and just on the cusp of making it big. I'll of course find a way to **incorporate the scene with Beverly in Mississippi** and will have **Rayna run away at 16** like she did, but I'll be focusing on how both she and Deacon **got started** in Nashville and how they gradually started to get to know each other.

Maybe we can label this as an **AU** since some of the details are questionable/not able to be proved by the show, but let's just go with it, okay? It'll be fun!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this piece! I'm putting a lot of thought into it to make it as realistic/canon as possible given the show's sketchy timeline. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **1**

 _He looked over at her as he entered the bar and then stopped, his eyes locking with hers. Rayna had thought that her eyes were a pretty shade of blue, but if hers were pretty, then his were_ _ **gorgeous**_ _. They were clear and bright under the soft lamp lighting, and when he smiled at her, Rayna felt something stir inside of her. She felt excited and scared and embarrassed all at once, and all she could manage to do was smile back, hoping that she wasn't blushing too hard._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Rayna Wyatt?"

Opening her eyes, Rayna sat straight up in her chair and looked over at her teacher, struggling to figure out what she was being asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"What's the answer, Rayna?"

 _The answer?_ It was first period algebra, and Rayna was _exhausted. S_ he'd stayed up late the night before doing a gig over at one of the local bars in downtown Nashville. She was only sixteen, but this one bar always let her come in and sing anyway, probably just because she was pretty and because they didn't have anyone else to perform that late on Sunday nights.

Rayna was finally starting to _become_ somebody in the country music scene. There were a lot of up-and-coming hopefuls, of course, but Rayna was starting to secure regular gigs at notable venues, and as she was so often told, it wouldn't be long until she "made it big." And it was all she could do to hope that everyone was right.

"Uh... False."

"Nice try, Rayna." A couple of boys in the back snickered as Mr. Wallis turned back to the chalkboard. Rayna slunk down in her chair and felt her cheeks flush. Algebra was her worst subject, and this wasn't making it any easier for her. "I suggest you stay awake long enough to actually hear the question. The answer is three. Now, how did I arrive to that number, class?"

Needless to say, Rayna hadn't done much studying over the weekend. It was turning into a pattern, but she couldn't help it; singing took too much of her time, and she wasn't Superwoman. Her father had been nagging about her grades this quarter ( _especially_ in math since her grade was steadily falling) and had threatened to take away her guitar if they didn't improve. The joke was on him since she couldn't even _play_ that guitar, but still, Rayna knew that she had to improve her grades. And she _would_. Eventually.

Both Rayna and her sister Tandy went to the very prestigious University School of Nashville. Rayna was in tenth grade and Tandy was in eleventh, and they both were faced with tremendous pressure from their father to succeed and do well. If Rayna had to be completely honest with herself, though, she felt like she didn't really _belong_ there. It was a highly competitive, academic school, and while that certainly aligned with Tandy's interests and talents, it didn't suit Rayna's. She managed to get mostly Bs with the occasional A and the occasional C, but this just wasn't for her – this just wasn't her _world._ Country music was Rayna's world.

"For tomorrow's class," said Mr. Wallis, pausing to stand right in front of Rayna's desk and glare down at her, "I want everyone to do their homework, and I want everyone to be _awake._ Is that understood, class? _Miss Wyatt?"_

When the bell rang, Rayna made her way over to her locker to switch out her textbooks. She smoothed down her school uniform and checked her reflection in the mirror as she did so. She had wavy strawberry-blonde hair that was parted from the side and that fell down to the middle of her back. Oftentimes before singing at bars, Rayna would curl it because she thought that it made her look older and more _mature._ Her father _never_ let her curl her hair or wear any makeup, but when he wasn't around, Rayna did it anyway. She liked looking and feeling pretty, and she didn't appreciate her father censoring her and depraving her of being herself.

"Rayna." Looking to her left, Rayna saw Tandy walking over to her, frowning. Tandy had the same build and frame as Rayna, but she had their father's narrow eyes whereas Rayna had their mother's round ones. Tandy's hair was a deeper red than Rayna's and her face was narrower, so in a lot of ways, it seemed like they were opposites. Tandy was so _serious_ and so _goodie-good,_ and unlike Rayna, she _never_ went out on a limb and tried something new just for the sake of doing something different _._ As far as Rayna was concerned, Tandy didn't truly _live._

"Hey, Tand."

"Don't you 'hey Tand' me." Her voice was sharp, and Rayna sighed as she picked up her biology book. "I know that you snuck out again last night, and I can only assume where you went."

"Mind your own business, Tandy," Rayna muttered, grabbing the last of her supplies before slamming her locker shut and turning to go to her biology class. She didn't feel like discussing it right now, though she knew Tandy would push and _push,_ like she always did.

"Hey! I'm not finished!" Tandy ran after her and started walking by Rayna's side, their shoulders brushing. "I know you think you've got it all figured out, but you _don't_. You're still a child, and you need proper guidance. You can't just go out in the middle of the night like that, Rayna. It's not safe!"

Even though Tandy was unbearably bossy and critical, Rayna knew that she meant well. Their mother's death had been hard on all of them, and since then, Tandy had taken on some of the responsibilities of the matriarch. She took it upon herself to make sure that Rayna finished her homework, brushed her teeth, went to church, and washed behind her ears, and even though it was annoying, Rayna appreciated her sister's concern. To a certain extent, that is.

"Look, Tandy, I get that you love me and that you're worried about me, but it's fine." They had reached Rayna's classroom, so they came to a stop. "I'm _not_ on my own. Uncle Watty is there whenever I go and he makes sure that nothin' bad happens to me."

"He is?" asked Tandy, puzzled. "Does _Daddy_ know about that?" For some reason, their father had never taken much to Watty White. He was an up-and-coming music producer and radio host that had helped their mother out with her career. They had worked together quite often, and when Rayna and Tandy had gone to the studio or to the radio station with their mother, Watty had always been so kind and gracious with them.

"No, but that's not the point." The warning bell rang, and Tandy jumped. The eleventh graders had class in a different wing of the building, and Raya knew only too well how much her sister hated to be late. "Get on to class, Tand. I promise that we can talk about this later."

They didn't, though. Right after school, Rayna ditched her school uniform and dodged Tandy and their driver as she instead walked over to the bus station. They lived in Belle Meade, which was about a twenty minute ride away from their school in the heart of Nashville. Even though their father discouraged them from ever using public transportation, Rayna used it quite frequently to get around Nashville. Belle Meade might be on one of the outskirts, but there was still a bus line nearby, thank God.

"Rayna!" Watty's voice was surprised as she opened the door of the studio and came up to him, smiling wide. She hadn't planned on coming today and she hadn't told him about it, but that was okay. Watty always had time for her, and Rayna truly appreciated that. He was there for her more than her own father was.

"What's up, my little songbird?"

"I want to sing again tonight." Watty always got her in on the weekends, usually on Sunday nights when the crowd was a little tamer, but Rayna was antsy to try out some new songs. Last night she had sung the same covers she'd been singing for the past few weeks, and she could tell that the audience had been a little bored. She had her own twists and takes on the material, but Rayna could only make overly-played country radio songs sound so good, so she wanted to try singing some lesser-known songs that really resonated with her.

"Are you sure about that?" Watty asked after she explained her reasoning to him, eying her thoughtfully. "That's a rather risky thing to do, especially if people don't know the songs."

"That's sort of the point, though, Uncle Watty." Rayna smiled that southern belle smile that so resembled her mother's, and she could see Watty melt before her. "What's life without a little risk? I like to take my chances."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You're late." As Rayna closed the front door and walked into the foyer, her father was standing there in front of her, his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. "You're very late, and you didn't ride home with Tandy."

"And you're home. _For once_." Rayna knew that he was angry with her since it was almost six o'clock and she hadn't told anyone where she was going, but she didn't care. It was truly a rare sight to see him home so early, so was he really one to talk? For everything he did and everything he said, Lamar Wyatt was such a hypocrite, and Rayna couldn't _stand_ it.

"Where have you been, young lady?"

"Out." Rayna moved into the living room and set her bag down on the couch before plopping down next to it.

"Out _where_ , Rayna?"

"You know, up and around Nashville." He gave an impatient grunt, and Rayna smiled. She knew it probably wasn't very ladylike, but she liked getting a charge out of people. It was interesting, and even though she was careful to mind her manners, she sometimes just couldn't help it.

"Fine," her father said coolly, narrowing his eyes at her. "If that's how you chose to behave, then I'm taking away your guitar."

"That's okay," said Rayna, opening her bag and pulling out her biology textbook. As her father stomped up the stairs (most likely on his way to her bedroom), Rayna smiled. Like she said, she couldn't play it anyway.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hi, Rayna." It was nine-thirty, and Rayna hopped into the passenger seat of Watty's Audi Quattro. "Was your father upset that I'm taking you out so late on a school night?"

"Not at all," said Rayna sweetly, letting out a laugh. Watty didn't know that her father wasn't aware of these gigs, of course, and since the two never talked, there was no reason for him to ever realize this. Tonight Rayna's father had grounded her after they got into a shouting match during dinner over her grades, and he never bothered to check on her when he sent her to her room. He always assumed that she'd be in there until she came down for breakfast the next morning, and since her bedroom was just above the roof which was just next to a tall tree with many low branches, sneaking out wasn't very hard to do.

They were driving over to one of the livelier bars of the neighborhood. It was almost impossible to play there on the weekends, but since it was Monday, things were a little different. Watty had pulled some strings, and sure enough, he had gotten her in, which meant a lot to her.

"Do you have your song lineup ready?" he asked when they were almost there.

"Yep." Rayna was changing it up and was going to sing a couple of the oldies, which hopefully the band knew. She chose some obscure songs from the 50s and 60s, but she thought they had some real depth and meaning to them. For Rayna, music wasn't just about the overall sound but also about the overall _saying_. Music spoke to her and it meant something to her, and even though she wasn't yet writing her own songs, she wanted to choose songs that reflected that same attitude.

When they arrived, the other singer was still performing, so Rayna waited off on the side, nodding her head to the beat of the song. The doorbells chimed as someone else entered the bar, and it was when Rayna unconsciously turned her head to the door that she first saw him, his blue eyes bright, his brown hair ruffled, and his flannel shirt hanging loosely from his broad, powerful shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **2**

He looked over at her as he entered the bar and then stopped, his eyes locking with hers. Rayna had thought that her eyes were a pretty shade of blue, but if hers were pretty, then his were _gorgeous._ They were clear and bright under the soft lamp lighting, and when he smiled at her, Rayna felt something stir inside of her. She felt excited and scared and embarrassed all at once, and all she could manage to do was smile back, hoping that she wasn't blushing too hard.

He was young, but he seemed to be older than Rayna was. He was wearing a loosely-fitted brown flannel rolled up at the elbows, which showcased his taught forearm muscles. Rayna's eyes were drawn to them, along with the biceps bulging out from beneath the flannel, but she soon shook herself, realizing how utterly rude it was to stare and how she was probably making a fool of herself.

On the contrary, though, the guy smiled at her again, and it looked like he was about to come over to her. Did he really want to talk to her? Did his eyes _really_ just flicker up and down her body like that? Before he could do so, though, Watty came over and put a hand on the small of her back. "Are you ready, Rayna? You're almost on."

She looked back at the stranger and merely blinked at him as Watty ushered her forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Rayna saw him take a seat at one of the tables, and she felt his eyes on her. She didn't look back at him as she climbed onto the stage and greeted the band players, but she wanted to. She wanted to very much.

"And now," said the lead guitar player as Rayna took her seat on the wooden stool, smiling out at the audience (and at _him_ ), "is Miss Rayna Jaymes!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"That was somethin' else." Startled, Rayna jumped and saw that guy standing in front of her, his blue eyes softened by his wide smile. He was even better looking up close, Rayna realized, but more importantly, she _felt_ something from being closer to him. She felt something good and something safe radiate from him and dissolve into her, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt that she could trust him.

"Thank you," she replied, trying not to sound too surprised yet trying not to sound too ungrateful. He continued to smile at her, his eyes glued to her own, and she felt all those wild emotions from earlier surge back into her system.

"Rayna!" Coming up on her right side, Watty put a hand on her shoulder and joined them. Rayna felt her cheeks blush again as she smiled, looking up at the two men. "I see that you've met Deacon Claybourne."

 _Deacon Claybourne?_ What a strong name. The guy nodded and then flashed another smile, extending his hand. "Yup. I'm Deacon." As Rayna's hand slipped into his, she was amazed at how soft it was yet how rough it seemed. It looked like he built things or did a lot of work with his hands. "I play the guitar."

"Really?" _That_ would explain the strange texture of his hands. He didn't have one with him, though, so Rayna was confused. "Where's it at?"

"Oh, it's back in my hotel room. I only came out to watch and to get a sense of what's goin' on here."

 _Back in his hotel room?_ That must mean that he wasn't from around there and that he didn't live there. Rayna felt a stab of disappointment at the revelation, and she wondered why she felt like that; she wondered why it was such a big deal to her.

"I'm stayin' over at the Holiday Inn until I get my own place." Rayna instantly perked up, and Deacon seemed to have sensed it, for he laughed. "Yeah, you probably thought I was just passin' on through, but no ma'am. I'm here to play guitar, and I'm here to stay."

"I'm glad," she said quickly, and then she stopped, blushing. "I'm glad that you've got a plan, that is."

"Right, right." He said it softly, like he knew what she had _really_ meant, but he didn't press her on it.

"Deacon here's new on the scene, but he already came up to my studio and showed me a thing or two with that guitar of his." Watty was smiling as he gazed over at Deacon, but there was something else flecked in his gaze. His eyes wandered quickly over to Rayna and then back to Deacon, and Rayna wondered what he was thinking.

"So do you sing here often?" Deacon asked, breaking the silence. "I really liked how you went with some of the more authentic tracks. I haven't heard some of those songs in a real long time. I also like the quality of your voice. It really _struck_ me."

"This is her first time singin' here, but we're lookin' to make it more regular." Watty's hand tightened on Rayna's shoulder, and for whatever reason, he cleared his throat in a sort of dismissive manner. "Well, I'm gonna say goodbye to some people and then we're gonna get goin', Rayna."

"Okay."

"Did you ride with him or somethin'?" Deacon asked as Watty went over to a group of men by the stage, shaking their hands. "Is he your manager?"

Manager? Rayna let out a laugh, for she had never thought of Watty as her manager. He was her mentor, sure, and a father figure to her, but Rayna didn't think that he held any managerial control over her career. Not that she even _had_ a career yet, unless you counted the tips she collected from her gigs.

"No. He's just a good friend helping me out." She paused just then, feeling awkward. She wanted to know more about this guy and she wanted to somehow assure that they would see each other again, but she didn't know what to do. She also didn't really know if that was the appropriate thing to do in this situation because this had never really happened to her before.

Rayna flirted with the boys at school and had let them take her out on dates a couple times, but that was _different –_ those were the _Belle Meade_ kind of people. Deacon didn't seem to be like that. He had a more rural, laid-back air about him, and it had just felt so right and so _easy_ talking to him. Though he definitely seemed to be a few years older than her, Rayna felt that they had sincerely clicked, and she didn't want this to be the first and last time they ever saw each other.

But since she was sixteen and inexperienced, she didn't really know what to do. "Well," she said, her head spinning, "I guess I'll see you around, then."

"Hey!" As she turned around and started to walk back to Watty, however, she felt a light touch on her arm. Deacon was right behind her, staring into her eyes again, and Rayna felt her entire body melt at his touch. "I'd really like to see you again. D'you work around here?"

 _Work?_ Oh gosh. He thought she was out of high school, and he thought she was working somewhere. He must have assumed that she was pounding the pavement of Nashville and looking for her big break, and even though she _was_ doing that, there she was – still in school.

"Yeah, I'm around here," she said, purposely vague. As she said, Deacon wasn't the _Belle Meade_ kind of person, so how would he react to knowing that she went to the most expensive and prestigious prep school in Tennessee? Would he _judge_ her and get an unfavorable impression of her? "What about you?"

She thought she caught the faint traces of a blush as he said, "I'm... finishing up a couple things, and then I'm gonna start playin' full time."

Finishing up some things? What, was _he_ still in school, too? It sounded like he was completely on his own, and Rayna wondered how that worked. Didn't you have to have a parent live with you if you were in school? Rayna didn't know anything about those kind of laws, but it fascinated her. She didn't want to give her own cover away, though, so she left it alone.

"Well, then, I guess I _will_ see you around." She smiled at him again, thrilled at how he smiled back and looked at her with such admiration. She didn't know why he seemed to admire her so much, but it felt good. Maybe for the first time since her mother died, Rayna would finally have someone other than Watty value and appreciate her music aspirations. Maybe, Rayna thought, going over to Watty and waiting patiently for him to finish his conversation, she would finally find someone who would teach her how to play that damned guitar.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **3**

Over the next few weeks, Rayna found herself thinking more and more about Deacon Claybourne. The night she met him, she had gone to bed and actually dreamed of him. She couldn't recall what had happened in the dream, but she remembered seeing his pearly white smile twinkle over at her, his eyes just as bright and just as beautiful.

Rayna knew that it wasn't very prudent, though. She was just a sophomore in high school, and this guy could be graduated already! She didn't know that for sure and a part of her seriously doubted it, but still, Rayna knew that she had to be careful. She could only _imagine_ what Tandy would say if she knew about this, so she tried not to think about that. She had enough to worry about with her cringe-worthy algebra grade and her song set, so she really didn't need to be thinking about Deacon Claybourne.

At school one day as Rayna was unpacking her lunch in the cafeteria, she overheard some girls talking at a nearby table.

"There's this really cute guy who just moved to town," one was saying, pausing for the group to erupt into a bunch of high-pitched giggles. "He lives over on the other side of the city and is simply _gorgeous._ "

Were they talking about Deacon? In spite of herself, Rayna leaned closer and craned her ears in their direction, trying to figure out if it was indeed Deacon. She took a bite of her banana and sipped her water, her attention focused to the table on her left.

"He's not from Tennessee, but I know he's from the south."

"Where in the south?"

"I don't know. The south-south, I guess. But he's got a cute accent and an even cuter butt, and my sister's friend's neighbor goes to high school with him."

For some reason, this made Rayna doubt that they were indeed talking about Deacon, but she listened on anyway, just in case. She didn't _know_ that he graduated high school already, but she just had a feeling that he wasn't in school. He didn't give off that vibe.

"What's his name, anyway?" one of the girls finally asked. "You didn't say."

"Billy something," one responded, and Rayna felt her heart sink. She hadn't realized how much she had been thinking about him until just then. Her heart had started beating and her mind had been racing just at the mere mention of a _new guy_ in town! Of course there would be dozens of new people in town since it _was_ Nashville, so Rayna wasn't being rational. She felt quite stupid, actually.

"Are you ready to go, Rayna?" Tandy was standing by the table, tapping her foot as she stared down at her watch, and Rayna sighed lightly, throwing her uneaten tuna sandwich back into her lunchbox and following her sister wordlessly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are you excited, Rayna?" She was back in Watty's Audi Quattro, and they were going back to the place where she'd first seen Deacon. Of course she was excited, but it wasn't just because of the music – deep down, Rayna was hoping that Deacon would be there again, and if he was, she would be brave and ask him more about his life.

She had spent even more time than usual on her makeup that evening, making sure her eyeliner was lined up perfectly on her upper lids and taking care not to smudge her mascara. People always complimented her eyes, and tonight, she wanted them to look _perfect_ in case Deacon was there.

Why she wanted to look perfect, though, was still a bit hard for Rayna to fully understand. Did she _like_ Deacon? She'd only just met him! Certainly there was some physical attraction there, but as Rayna was learning in her young life, there would always be some sort of physical attraction out there. It was simply a matter of hormones, but even as she settled on that, Rayna had the distinct feeling that there was something else going on with Deacon – something more profound.

Sure enough, when they entered the bar at fifteen minutes before Rayna was set to go on, he was there, sitting at that same table.

"Hey!" His face lit up as he came over to them, and Rayna returned the smile and felt her cheeks heat up again. She felt uncomfortable because Watty was there, and she prayed that he wouldn't give up her secret. _Though he didn't even know what her secret was._ "I was hopin' that I'd see you here again." It'd been three weeks, and Rayna was glad to know that he had been thinking of her, too. "Been busy with work or somethin', huh?"

"Hi Deacon," she said softly, tilting her head to the side. "It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah. You, too." They were smiling at each other now, and Rayna felt her heart skip another beat. There it was again – that _connection._ She felt nervous and excited and eager and breathless, and it was almost as if there was electricity swirling between them, its current powerful enough to sweep them both away.

"Well," said Watty, clearing his throat, "Rayna's about to go up now, so we'll talk to you later, son."

"Break a leg out there," Deacon said to her, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it lightly but then quickly let go, his eyes glancing up at Watty, who cleared his throat again and then urged Rayna toward the stage. His touch had felt so warm and so gentle, and all Rayna could do was smile at him before walking over to the stage, feeling those butterflies flutter in her stomach all over again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Somehow after that second performance, Watty had arranged it so that Rayna could sing at that bar every Monday night for the next six weeks straight, which would spill right into the Christmas season. It was a bit tricky to coordinate with her other gigs (and to handle since she was technically under age), but they could make it work. Rayna did get paid for these gigs, but it was abysmal – she got a share of the tips collected during her performances, but she had to share that with the band members, too. In the end, she could sometimes make as much as ten bucks, which wasn't too bad for a sixteen-year old (minimum wage was $3.35, so she was ahead, actually). Even though Rayna's father was the richest man in Nashville, Rayna had never been too taken with money. She'd never needed much to be happy, which suited the lifestyle of a low-key performer.

Another great thing about the weekly Monday gig was that Rayna would be able to see Deacon every week, assuming that he'd be there, of course. After spending time with him the past few weeks, Rayna had become intrigued by him. He was so mysterious yet so open. It was the strangest sort of contrast, and every week, they played the same sort of game – talking before and after her set, each vague about that they did elsewhere, but still bonding intensely over music. Mondays quickly became Rayna's favorite day of the week.

A few Mondays into her recurring gig, though, Rayna ran into a small snag: her grandmother was in from out of town, and whenever that happened, she and Tandy were watched like hawks. Perhaps _that's_ where Rayna's father got it from. Genevieve Wyatt was a nosey sixty seven year-old woman with batty eyes and a slightly hunched back, and ever since the girls' mother had died, she'd felt the urge to assess their upbringing, fearing they weren't faring well without direct maternal influence.

"What is your grade point average, Tandy?"

"4.0, ma'am."

"And what subjects have you taken thus far?"

"All of the required ones and then an extra statistics sequence. My elective this quarter is accounting, and when I finish my PE requirement, I'm going to pick up another science class."

Grandma Wyatt would never tell them that she approved of what they were doing; instead, she would simply stare at them for a solid ten seconds before moving onto the next child, like she did now with Rayna. "And what about you, Rayna? What is your GPA?"

It was embarrassing, really, to not be as smart as Tandy. They both went to the best private school in Tennessee stocked with the finest teachers and practically unlimited funding (thanks to generous donations from Wyatt Industries, no doubt), but Tandy did better in that kind of atmosphere than Rayna did. Rayna felt trapped and contained in that school, and she had never told anyone this before, but a part of her secretly wanted to drop out and just get her GED. She could use all that extra time to focus on her music and to possibly _write_ some material, but since she had to go to school, she felt like she was just wasting her time. But what else could she do under the tight grip of Lamar Wyatt?

Grandma Wyatt's rebuke had been as harsh as ever ("you're going to amount to nothing, young lady! Are you hearing me? Do you understand the severity of this situation?"), but when it was finally over, Rayna feigned a yawn and stretched her arms out. "Well, y'all, I'm really tied. I'm gonna go to bed now. G'nigjt."

When she was sure that no one had followed her and that no one was coming, though, Rayna changed into her favorite pair of ripped jeans and her favorite leather jacket before moving to her stashed curling iron to work on her hair, wondering what Deacon would be wearing tonight. Though they'd talked plenty about music and about their future ambitions, tonight, Rayna wanted to take it a little further and talk more about their _lives_ and about their _present._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** I re-watched some of season 2 today, and Rayna mentioned that Watty always used to say "steel is forged in fire," so voilà. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **4**

"Steel is forged in fire," Watty told Rayna as she stepped off the stage. He put his arm around her and pulled her into a side embrace as they went over to the back. It was a Friday and a much different scene than the usual Monday gig. A few rowdy men had yelled, "Show me your boobs!" and a couple people booed when Rayna had paused to gawk at them. It was all so stupid, really, but it was the first time it had happened to Rayna. It certainly wouldn't be the last time, and it was completely humiliating.

"You okay?" he asked gently, handing her a tissue. A few tears had fallen, and Rayna took the Kleenex and batted her eyes quickly, hoping no one else saw.

"Yeah," she sniffed, running her fingers around her eyes to wipe away any smudged mascara. "I'm fine."

It was part of the job. People were assholes, and as a young woman performer, Rayna had to get used to things like that. It was hard, but it had to be done.

"Steel is forged in fire," Watty repeated, now handing Rayna a glass of water before putting his arm around her barstool, looking out at the people assembled near the stage. "Steel is forged in fire. You're gonna make it, my little song bird. It'll be alright."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I should've known you were a country pop kinda girl." Rayna was sitting at Deacon's table again while Watty chatted away with his friends. His comment made Rayna laugh. She'd gone back to playing a couple of her more radio-friendly covers, and that mixed with some of the classics seemed to have worked out for her. She hadn't gotten booed again and no one made any inappropriate comments to her, so perhaps that was the way to go. "Some people out there would say that's not _traditional_ enough, though, you know."

"I know," Rayna sighed, propping her chin up on her knuckles, "and that's so _dumb._ I mean, times are changing. I _like_ the old country sound, don't get me wrong, but I just think that there's _more_ to itand that you can still combine the two. D'you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," said Deacon, taking the straw of his water and stirring the ice cubes. "I feel ya. I've started writing my own stuff, and it's kinda a blend, too."

"Really?" He hadn't mentioned this to her any of the previous nights. Again, Rayna was surprised to learn this about him, but at the same time, she was impressed. Rayna had always wanted to write her own songs, but she just didn't know how to _start._ And there he was, _just starting._ "Can I hear some of them sometime?"

His cheeks reddened again as he chuckled softly, and Rayna wondered if that had been too bold of her to ask. She knew how sacred music was to people, and she didn't want to come across as insensitive. "Not quite yet. But I will tell you what, darlin'." He paused to smile at her, and Rayna's heart twisted. He called her _darling._ "You keep singin' the way you've been singin', and I very well might let you sing one of 'em right up there on that stage for me."

"That would be great," Rayna gushed, because truly, it would be. Even though she had no idea what he was working on or how good his songs even were, the fact that he seemed to trust her enough to do that really touched her. They hadn't known other for too long, but just like the very first time, Rayna felt so comfortable with him, and she knew he was comfortable with her, too.

After a few quiet moments dragged by, Deacon cleared his throat and pulled out his wallet. "What the hell, I'm gonna order a beer. You want one?"

So he could order beer. That right there proved that he was indeed _not_ in high school since the law had recently changed to require a person to be twenty-one, and Rayna felt suddenly embarrassed. He was at least twenty-one years old, and there she was, at stinking sixteen. She knew that she probably _looked_ twenty-one with the curled hair and all the makeup, but she _wasn't_. And she wouldn't be able to hide it forever. It'd been hard enough to be so ambiguous about it for as long as she had.

"No thanks," she said quickly, _too_ quickly. He looked at her strangely, and she lowered her head. This was it. "I'm uh, not exactly... _Old_ enough."

"Oh." To Rayna's surprise, he let out a laugh. "I'm not either, if we're going to be honest here." Rayna looked up at him then, staring from his face to his pulled-out ID. "You're not? Then how –"

"It's fake." Deacon held the card out to her, and she took it, their fingers brushing with the transaction. Rayna felt chills erupt down her spine. "I had it made for me back home in Mississippi. Says I'm 21, and since no one here is too familiar with Mississippi IDs, they don't look too close."

"Then how old _are_ you?" Rayna had blurted it out before she even stopped to think it through, and again, he blushed. He was _definitely_ embarrassed of something, as was she. "You can be honest with me, you know." She smiled at him again, and she felt so soft and so tender to see him looking at her so vulnerably like that. "You don't have to hide anything."

"Seventeen." That was younger than Rayna expected, and she let out the breath she was holding. He _couldn't_ have graduated from high school already and he _wasn't_ that much older than her. Not that it meant anything, though, she realized, feeling nervous. This thing between them, it probably didn't even _mean_ anything. They were two young people hanging out at a bar (two _under aged_ young people hanging out at a bar), and they may or may not flirt with each other every now and then. Did that necessarily _have_ to mean anything? Was Rayna just overanalyzing the situation?

"How old are _you,_ then?" he asked her, quickly adding, "if I may ask?"

Should she tell him? _He_ had told _her_. Sitting there at that table, Deacon looked so innocent. His eyes, still so clear and so bright, were probing hers gently, and she didn't feel pressured at all. There were times with Tandy and with her father that Rayna felt pressured to give in to their every demand, but it was different with Deacon.

"Don't laugh," she said in a small voice. She avoided his eyes, and she racked her brain about how she could preface this to soften the blow and diminish some of the embarrassment. He was seventeen and was ordering beer. She felt like such a _child_ compared to him.

"Hey now." His voice was soft, and Rayna was surprised to feel his hand on top of hers. He was definitely _holding_ it, and the act made Rayna's mind spin and her skin burn where he was touching it. "Like you said, you don't have to hide anything."

She didn't. Looking into his eyes, she knew that she really didn't. "I'm sixteen."

His eyes did widen a little, but they soon narrowed back down to amusement. He was still holding her hand, which must have been a good sign, and Rayna felt her shame melt into something else, something airy and light.

"Why would you be embarrassed of that?"

"Because..." She didn't quite know how to say it. Because she felt like a little girl? Because she'd been purposely misleading him? Anything she said would sound stupid, so Rayna didn't really know what to so. Her words faltered, and she again just felt like such an idiot. _Why_ did she have to ruin everything?

"Naw, I get it." He let go of her hand now (it suddenly felt cold, and Rayna missed his hand's warmth) as he motioned to the waiter. After he ordered his beer with his fake Mississippi ID, he turned back to her, smiling in earnest again. "And it's fine, Rayna. I don't care how old you are anyway."

"You don't?" What was that supposed to mean? He didn't care for _what_? For being her friend? For... _Liking_ her or something?

"Nope," he said, and when the waiter came back with his beer, he took a few long swigs while Rayna played with the ends of her hair, waiting.

"So," he finally asked, trying to keep his tone casual, "where do you go to school?"

"Oh, you know," she answered, feeling herself smile. "Around here. Where – Do _you_?"

"Oh, you know," he repeated, grinning again. "I'm finishing up a couple things, and then I'm gonna start playin' full time."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **5**

As December rolled in, the temperature in Nashville began to drop as everyone's spirits began to rise, fresh with the excitement of Christmas. At school, the hallways and classrooms were loaded with Christmas decorations. In Rayna's third period American history class, Mrs. Henderson had made stockings for everyone in all her classes (which completely filled the left-side wall), and in fifth period English, Mr. Fraser was making them all write Christmas poems.

"Oh, come on now!" he exclaimed as everyone rolled their eyes and slumped their shoulders. "Writing poetry is fun! Especially when themed. Y'all can't write even a tiny, little Christmas poem?"

Even though she wanted to write her own music one day, Rayna wasn't quite fond of poetry. Words on a page seemed simply like words on a page without the accompaniment of music, and it just didn't feel the _same._ Nevertheless she supposed that she had to do it, so when the final bell rang and everyone scurried out of class, Rayna ditched her school uniform and then made her way over to one of the coffee shops downtown to get going on her poem.

When she walked through the doors and approached the counters, however, she stopped dead. Standing behind the counter with a dark green apron tied around his neck was Deacon Claybourne, his eyes bright and his smile wide as he was talking to a customer. A young, attractive, _female_ customer.

"So what'll it be this time? Tall caramel cappuccino?"

"Oh, I don't know," the woman said slowly, tilting her head to the side and staring over at the menu. She out a long, drawn-out sigh and then giggled. "I always get the same thing. Can you help me decide?"

As he suggested different drinks and she questioned him intently on each one, Rayna felt a strange feeling surge up in her chest. She didn't know why, but she felt _jealous._ She didn't like how that woman kept batting her overly-mascaraed eyes at him, and she didn't like how he kept smiling at her, as though immune to her charm or as though he actually enjoyed it.

Again, Rayna didn't even know _what_ was going on between herself and Deacon. They hung out at Monday nights at a bar before and after her set, but still, she felt a sense of connection to him. She knew that he wasn't her boyfriend and that he didn't owe her anything, but his interaction with that woman still made her feel uncomfortable. She felt her heart start to beat faster as their conversation continued.

When the woman finally ordered her drink and moved down to the other side of the counter to pick it up, Rayna took a deep breath and stepped forward, bracing herself and trying to calm down.

As soon as he saw her, surprise and delight shined in Deacon's eyes, spreading to his smile. He also looked a bit embarrassed as he straightened his apron and ran a hand through his hair, but he didn't look like he had been _caught_ or anything. Maybe Rayna had been imaging the flirting between him and that woman; maybe Rayna was just getting too ahead of herself.

"Why hello there, sweet thing." The butterflies were back, and Rayna felt a smug sense of joy overcome her at his affectionate greeting. He hadn't called that woman "sweet thing" or "darlin'" or anything, so that was good.

"Fancy seeing you here," she teased him, smiling at how his eyes crinkled in an embarrassed sort of way. He was so easy to read. At least for Rayna.

"Yeah, well, a guy's gotta pay rent somehow."

"I thought you were gonna play full time?"

"I will," he said quickly, "but, you know, it takes time." A few seconds passed between them with Rayna glancing over at Deacon and Deacon glancing over at her when she wasn't glancing at him. "So," he finally said, "what brings you here? Your school around here?"

In that moment, Rayna again became fully aware of the kind of life she lived and how it compared to Deacon's. She still didn't know too much about him, but she knew that he had finally gotten himself a small, cheap apartment on the outskirts of town, she knew that he drove an old, beat-up pickup, and she now knew that he worked in a coffee shop. This wasn't at all like the life she led in Belle Meade, and if Rayna were to be honest, his life was the kind of life she respected. Actually, it was the kind of life she secretly had always wanted for herself, and she wasn't sure how Deacon would react if he knew about the kind of world that she _did_ live in. Rayna was thankful that she had changed out of her school uniform because she wasn't ready to go there yet.

"Yeah, ya know, it's around," Rayna answered with a smile. He returned the smile as their eyes met, and Rayna felt that _thing_ between them. It had been growing stronger the past couple times they'd talked, and even right there in the coffee shop, it wasn't something she could deny. It was like a current of electricity running between them, and it was strong and powerful. The mere force of it almost took Rayna's breath away.

"So what it's gonna be?" he asked her, his eyes bright again. "I can hook you up with any kinda drink you want. I've got mocha coffee, caramel coffee, butterscotch coffee – you name it! I'll make you the best one you've ever had."

"Hmm," said Rayna thoughtfully, "I like sweet drinks. What's the sweetest one you have?"

"You mean somethin' sweeter than you?" He smiled at her again, and Rayna felt her cheeks flush. Now _this_ was definitely flirting, and he was doing it with _her,_ not Miss 20 Questions now sitting over to the right, watching them. "I think I've got just the thing. Go on and have a seat and I'll bring it out to ya."

"How much is it?"

Rayna pulled out her wallet, but Deacon shook his head. "This one's on me. I'll have it out soon."

When he brought it out to her, Rayna stared down into the steaming liquid and then took a sip. It indeed _was_ the sweetest coffee she had ever tasted.

"I told ya I'd be able to make the best you've ever had," Deacon said proudly. He was sitting comfortably at her table. It was just Rayna in the shop now since the other woman had suddenly got up and left after Deacon sat down with Rayna. Her abrupt exit had pleased Rayna more than it should have, and she still didn't even know why. What was she trying to prove? What was she _doing_?

"Thanks, Deacon. This is just what I need to get goin' on this poem."

"You're writin' a poem?" Rayna had barely written anything in her notebook, but Deacon reached over and took it from her, laughing at her protests. "'Twas the night before Christmas'... Swell start there, buttercup."

"Well, I just started it," said Rayna defensively, but her voice softened because he had called her buttercup. _Buttercup_. "It's really hard for me to write poems. It just doesn't sound the same without music."

"Music?" Looking from her to his watch, Deacon grinned slightly. "You know, I get off in about twenty minutes, so if you want, I can grab my guitar from the back when I'm off and we can try and put some music to your 'poem' here."

Twenty minutes later, he was back with his guitar, a scratched, well-used thing that nonetheless fit him perfectly, and he began to strum along on the strings, his eyes focused intently on the strings.

It was the first time Rayna heard him sing. He took her notebook, which had a few lyrics scrawled inside, and he played around with the words and adjusted the melody, his eyes flickering over at her every now and again. She felt herself lost in a trance as he quietly crooned, and before she knew what she was doing, Rayna joined in, matching the pace and harmonizing with his voice.

When their voices mingled together, it just felt so inexplicably _right._ Rayna never had any formal training and she didn't really know what she was doing, but somehow, she knew how to match his notes and how to bring out a richer quality to them. Deacon went along with this and eventually let her lead, nudging the notebook closer to her and grinning as she picked up her pencil and jotted down lyrics for them to try.

There were more customers in the shop by this point, and a few of them turned their heads to look over at them. Deacon wasn't working anymore, but if he felt embarrassed to be singing and creating a Christmas song at his workplace, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, he looked the most relaxed Rayna had ever seen him.

"Ready to take it from the top?" he asked her, repeating the beginning sequence as she set down her pencil.

"Yep," she answered, and after a couple bars, they both began to sing:

 _ **Twas the night before Christmas**_

 _ **And all through my heart**_

 _ **My blood was a pumping,**_

 _ **Fast from the start.**_

 _ **From the first moment I saw you**_

 _ **The emotions were there,**_

 _ **Hanging from my shirt sleeves**_

 _ **with tender loving care.**_

It was quiet in the shop now as they continued to sing, but they didn't even notice. They were too busy gazing at each other as Deacon continued to play the chords, and Rayna felt something stir in her heart.

 _ **as we embark on the holiday**_

 _ **Enjoying this time,**_

 _ **My heart grows fuller**_

 _ **Just knowing you're mine.**_

 _ **Every experience with you**_

 _ **Makes my heart pitter patter.**_

 _ **The gifts and the food?**_

 _ **None of that matters.**_

He repeated the opening sequence even though they didn't have any more words written down, and Rayna felt her breathing pick up. There was something sensual about the way he was leaning over his guitar and staring at her, and when they were singing, that current of electricity had intensified. She suddenly felt overwhelmed and wanted to jump across the table and kiss him, but she held back, trying to even her breathing.

"That was... Cool," he finally said, his hand falling down on the table. Was _his_ voice a little breathy, too? Was he trying to control his tone?

"Yeah," Rayna agreed, looking away from him and over at their neighboring tables. A girl with glasses smiled at her, and her companion, a guy with a beanie over his messy brown hair, gave her a nod.

"You ever, uh, write songs like that before?" Deacon wasn't looking at her, either, and Rayna felt that he was nervous to be asking this question.

"No," she said truthfully, for she hadn't. "I've never written anything before, so... No."

She indeed had never written anything before, but with Deacon, it had been so easy. It seemed effortless as he played some chords and threw out some words, changing the way he sang them and then balancing the notes to better match the words. More importantly, their song had actually sounded _good,_ so Rayna wondered how his other songs sounded. He had told her before that maybe she could sing one of them one day, and Rayna hoped that he hadn't forgotten that.

"Well," said Deacon, standing up and slinging his guitar over his shoulder, "we should do this again sometime." He was trying to sound casual, Rayna knew, and she stood up, too, not able to suppress her excitement.

"I would really like that, Deacon." That was the truth, and as he smiled and put a hand on his neck, as if embarrassed, Rayna again felt that overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss him. What was wrong with her? "I'd love it, actually."

"Alright," he said, his tone again calm and casual. Rayna didn't quite know how to take that. She had felt the chemistry between them while they were singing, and she _knew_ that he had felt it, too. How couldn't he? She saw it in his eyes and the way he had looked at her, the way he seemed to have _wanted_ her. But now, his eyes were guarded.

"I'll see you on Monday night, then?" she called out as he turned away.

"Yeah," he said, throwing her one last smile as he ducked under the coffee shop counter. "Most definitely, Rayna. See ya then."

* * *

Song: "My Heart Before Christmas" by KYB.

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think of the story so far!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **6**

Even though Rayna vouched for Deacon and his musical genius, it wasn't enough to convince Watty.

"That's not what you need right now, Rayna," he told her before her gig the Sunday following the coffee shop song meeting. They were at a different bar than where she played on Mondays, and it was actually a bit of a step up. "You need to be singing proven songs by _real_ songwriters. We don't know anything about this kid!"

"That's not true," Rayna protested, following Watty over to his table. "You told me that he'd come into your studio and that he's a killer guitar player!"

"Yes, Rayna – a _guitar player,_ not a song writer. I don't know anything about his songwriting, and I don't really know too much about him as a person."

"Well, I actually know him as a person," Rayna snapped, suddenly feeling angry, "and I think he's absolutely wonderful."

Watty paused and gazed down at her just then, and Rayna understood. She had in essence just betrayed her feelings for Deacon, and she was suddenly afraid of what would happen. Would Watty tell Deacon? Would he tell her _father_? She couldn't afford for any of that to happen right now. It would completely ruin _everything._

"Look, sweetie," he said softly, patting her shoulder. "I get that you seem to... _Value_ this guy, but you can't let him get in the way of your singing. We've come so far. Are you ready to jeopardize this over some guy you met at a bar? How old is he, anyway? He hardly seems like a seasoned songwriter."

Rayna had felt this speech coming, but she wasn't sure how to handle it. It was stupid, really, when she thought about it. She'd known Deacon only a couple of months yet was willing to put everything on the line for him and his music. She hadn't told Watty about how they had written that Christmas song together because she couldn't even _begin_ to imagine what he'd say about that. Maybe the timing just wasn't right; maybe Rayna had to let it all grow and mature.

"You're really onto something here, Rayna," Watty added. "I have a couple people looking into new artists for some smaller, local labels, and you're on their list."

"I am?"

"Yes." Watty smiled at her, and Rayna felt her heart start pounding. That was _huge_ , and if the right person happened to see her perform...

Well, if it ever got to that point, Rayna would be in deep trouble. Her father had no idea how serious her musical ambitions were, and he _certainly_ didn't know that she played at bars as often as she did. He'd be _furious_ if he ever found out (or if Tandy ever told him since Rayna knew she'd probably guessed what she was doing by now), and it would just be a disaster. And the odds of him signing his permission for her to record an album were probably negative fifty.

But, Rayna would cross that bridge when she got there. It wasn't even guaranteed to happen, after all, so there wasn't any need to get too worked up about it.

"You're on the right track doing what you're doing," Watty continued, "so let's keep it that way. Does that sound fair, honey?"

"Yeah," Rayna finally sighed, clearing her head and heading over to the small stage. She might not have convinced Watty yet, but she would. Playing some of Deacon's music would make a big splash to any big deal label head checking her out (assuming it was as good as she thought), so it actually _would_ be a good move on her part.

If there was anything Rayna had inherited from her father it was the ability to get exactly what she wanted, so she wasn't worried. In time, it would happen, and it would be easy.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Christmas Break was finally upon Nashville, so Rayna took it as the perfect opportunity to see Deacon as much as she possibly could. He worked at the coffee shop every Tuesday through Friday from nine am to five pm (apparently he _wasn't_ in school, then, though he had never mentioned graduating), so Rayna arrived toward the end of his shift, taking care to be wearing her best clothes with her best arrangement of makeup. She had a lot of algebra homework over break that she had to complete to avoid failing the course, so she'd do that, too, while she waited for him.

Without meaning to, they created a sort of pattern. She'd come in at 4 or so and go up to the counter to order her coffee. He'd wink at her and give her whatever he felt like making, and after she'd sit down and spend an hour on her homework, he'd finish his shift and come over to her, sitting down on her side of the booth.

Deacon's body so close to hers made Rayna _feel_ things. As he played the guitar, sometimes his arm brushed her lightly, and every time that happened, she felt jolts of feeling rush over her. She sometimes felt like she was suffocating with the intensity of it all, and when he sang... Rayna took it as an extreme accomplishment whenever she was able to open her mouth and sing along because it truly took her breath away the way he could play that guitar and sing a perfectly matching melody.

"Hey, let's get out of here," he said that first Friday of break. It was 6:30 and they'd been messing around with a new song since he had gotten off work, and he was gazing at her softly. "I'll take you out for a drink. What d'ya say?"

Didn't he remember how old she was? Rayna didn't feel like reminding him, but just because _he_ had the fake ID and was able to do what he wanted didn't mean that _she_ could. She felt lame, though, so she bit her lip, not exactly sure how to proceed.

"Deacon, I don't know because I'm not –"

"That wouldn't be an issue, Rayna," he assured her. "I can get you a drink and no one will say anythin'. It's just if you _want_ to. So do you?"

Did she? Rayna had only ever had a little bit of wine at one of her father's cocktail parties this past summer, and it hadn't been very appealing (it was red and it tasted _dry,_ even though it apparently was supposed to be like that.) She was therefore curious as to what _other_ alcoholic drinks tasted like, but was that the smartest thing to do? Rayna had never broken the rules like that before, but the idea of it was enticing.

"Are you sure that I won't... get in trouble?" She felt like a little kid for saying that, but Deacon merely laughed. He shook his head and then tapped her cheek lightly with his hand. It was a soft, tender touch, and Rayna reddened again.

"Naw," he said, jumping up and putting his hand out. She took it and he helped her up, his hand still connected to hers as she stood up next to him, their bodies only inches apart. "It'll be fine, and it'll be fun. Let's go."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rayna didn't like beer, but she _really_ liked mixed drinks. Deacon had ordered her a Bahama Mama and then something called a Spiderman, and as she sipped the Spiderman dry, she realized now that she was drunk. Actually _drunk._

"I'm drunk," she suddenly blurted out, and then she laughed. Deacon laughed, too. He was on his third beer, but _he_ didn't seem drunk. His eyes were still clear and his reflexes quick. Rayna had knocked some things down throughout the duration of their conversations and he had scooped them all up quickly and effectively.

"Just from two drinks?" he asked her. "Damn it, darlin'! You're a light-weight."

Rayna loved it when he called her darlin'. He called her quite a few things, now that she thought about it, but _darlin'_ felt the most special. Maybe it was because of his Mississippi accent or maybe it was because nobody had ever called Rayna that before, but it felt _good,_ and it made Rayna feel _appreciated._

"I really like it when you call me _darlin'_." Rayna's filter was completely obliterated, but that was fine by her. She didn't understand why she had been trying to hide her feelings for Deacon. They'd gotten so close over the past couple months, and he was just so _sexy._ She was attracted to his looks, attracted to his voice, and simply attracted to his being. They'd been playing this strange sort of tip-toe game for so long now, and Rayna finally wanted to be straight up about it all.

"You do?" he asked, laughing lighting while looking at her. His eyes seemed worried, though, as they searched hers. They were so _blue._ Gosh, Rayna felt herself growing lost in those beautiful blue eyes.

"Yep," said Rayna, "and I also really like _you._ " His eyes widened at that remark, and even though Rayna was smiling at him, he was frowning. Why was he frowning?

"You're drunk," he said slowly, still watching her. "You don't know what you're saying."

"But I _do_ know what I'm saying!" How could he say that? Rayna wasn't stupid. She saw the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her – the way he _sang_ to her. Their connection was too strong and too far gone to just dismissively ignore, so what was he doing? And how could _he_ possibly know what _she_ was feeling?

"I think I should get you home now."

 _Home._ Deacon wanted to take her back to her home, back home to _Belle Meade._ Even in her current state, Rayna still remembered that she didn't want Deacon to see her house and that she _certainly_ didn't want him to see her father, so she had to figure out what to do. He _couldn't_ take her home! What was she supposed to do?

"I can get there myself, Deacon," she said, standing up and swaying slightly. The room was starting to spin, and it surprised her. She really hadn't had that much to drink, but there she was, starting to stumble on her feet.

"Oh no you don't!" Deacon jumped up and steadied her, one hand wrapped around her waist and one gripping her hand. He was standing so close to her that she could smell his cologne, and she could feel his warm breath against her face.

"Everything's spinnin', Deacon," she said softly, squeezing his hand and feeling her body slouch and lean toward him.

"I know it is." He guided her back down to the booth, and he climbed in next to her, pulling her hair back as she set her head down on the table.

It was embarrassing, really, to be this drunk. It was probably because Rayna had never really drank before. What had she expected? The truth was that she wasn't thinking about _anything_ except for spending more time with Deacon. That had been the plan, and now that she clearly was in no state to continue their outing together, she had to figure out how to get out of it. But all she could do was press her cheek against the cold surface of the table, finding some temporary relief.

"It's alright, Rayna." Dimly, Rayna felt a hand gently stroke her back. It felt good and comforting, and without meaning to, she closed her eyes, aware of that hand still stroking her back and a soft voice murmuring words in her ear, almost like a rhythm to a song.

After a while, though, the butterflies in Rayna's stomach brought her out of her daze, and she sat up abruptly. Deacon leaned away a little bit, surprise nestled on his face, but Rayna moved closer and closed the gap between them.

"I know you just think I'm drunk and that I'm just babbling like an idiot, but I'm not." His eyes met hers, and Rayna reached forward to put a hand on the side of his face. Her fingers brushed over the stubble of his recently-shaved beard, and she felt that _thing_ rush over her, like it always did. "I really do like you, both when I'm drunk and when I'm sober."

"Yeah?" Deacon let out a nervous laugh, but before he could say anything else, Rayna leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, moving her free hand to weave into the thick mane of his hair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **7**

 _Cologne. Strong, intoxicating cologne. On his neck, in his hair, on his clothes – everywhere._

 _Lips. Forceful, tender lips. On her mouth, on her neck, on her chest – everywhere._

 _They were still in the bar, but Rayna felt herself grow hot and anxious. She didn't know exactly_ _ **why**_ _or what_ _ **for**_ **,** _but she felt it, and it felt_ _ **good**_ **.** _She wanted him in that moment more than she had ever wanted everything, but all she could do was swoon as he picked her up and kept on kissing her, their bodies intertwined and their hearts beating as one._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Rayna? _Rayna._ " Very slowly, Rayna's eyes opened and adjusted to see Tandy sitting on her bed, her hand roughly shaking Rayna by the shoulders. "Get up and get dressed. We have to go to Daddy's Christmas brunch. Don't you remember?"

 _Crap._ Rayna had completely forgotten, to be honest. Groaning, she sat up and brushed the hair out of her face, and it was then that she realized that she had a pounding, splitting headache. It was enough to make her slink back down onto her pillow again, closing her eyes and willing for it all to stop.

It had been a crazy night, not that Rayna could really remember it. She vaguely remembered kissing Deacon and Deacon kissing back, and then she remembered somehow having another drink. Or three. She didn't quite remember how she had gotten home, though, and, warily, she leaned her head up and stared over at Tandy.

"You don't remember how you got home last night, do you?"

"No, Tand. I don't."

"You're _hungover!_ " Tandy jumped off the bed and stood in front of her, her finger waving in the air. "I _knew_ you had gotten wasted! You came home at two in the morning and practically woke up the entire neighborhood."

"Did I wake Daddy?" Rayna was suddenly paralyzed with fear, for that would indeed be the end of _everything_ as she knew it.

"No," said Tandy, and her voice was softer now, though still firm. Rayna let out a sigh of relief. "But you _nearly_ did. I came out and helped you get into bed before you knocked down all your furniture. Where did you go last night?"

"How did I even get back?"

"I think you took the bus." Tandy sat down again, her curiosity now transcending her anger. "I didn't see or hear a car, so I think you definitely took the bus."

Had Deacon let her go, then? Rayna honestly couldn't remember. She remembered being at a bar (though _which_ bar she couldn't recall), and she did remember drinking. Suddenly she was worried about Deacon and was worried about how _he_ had gotten home, but she had no way to contact him. She still didn't even have his phone number.

"Well," said Rayna, sitting all the way up again and lifting her legs outside of the covers, "I guess I better get ready. Can you get me some aspirin, please?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At the brunch, Rayna avoided eye contact as much as possible and busied herself with looking at all the trophies a the country club. She _hated_ the trophies, really, and hated what they stood for, but at that particular moment, she just wanted to blend in the background and blend out of focus.

Her head still ached with pain and with pressure, and her mind was still trained on Deacon. She really wanted to see him, and she really wanted to make sure that he was alright. What had happened last night? Gosh, it was embarrassing not to remember, and it was so unlike her. Rayna didn't know what she was like when she was drunk, so she really hoped that she hadn't done anything she would regret.

"Rayna! Hello, dear." Groaning inwardly, Rayna turned around to see one of the country club women hurry over to her. She recognized her to be Mrs. Hensworth, who was the mother of one of the girl's in Rayna's grade. Rayna didn't really talk to Tina Hensworth, but apparently Tina Hensworth talked _about_ her if her mother knew who Rayna was.

"Hi, Mrs. Hensworth," said Rayna in that soft, sing-song voice she had been trained and encouraged to always use with people. Her mama had taught her that and her father had reinforced it, and it was just the thing to do in situations like this.

After a couple minutes of pointless chit-chat, Mrs. Hensworth went in for the kill: "Any boys in your life?"

"No." Rayna said it too fast and she felt herself blushing, and Mrs. Hensworth squealed in delight. These people always loved a good story and a good bout of _gossip._

"I know that look well enough to know that there _is_ some boy." Her voice was gentle and not _exactly_ probing, but Rayna still didn't like the type of social intrusion that was accepted in a place like this. Secrets were treasures waiting to be unearthed, and Rayna hated that entire culture. But, she couldn't be rude, so she made up some crush about one of the boys in Tandy's grade, praying that Mrs. Hensworth wouldn't tell Tina and that Tina wouldn't get too focused on it.

People eventually came up to them and captured Mrs. Hensworth's attention, so Rayna gradually slipped away, moving to search for Tandy and her father. They'd been there for a couple hours, so surely it was almost time to home? Rayna needed to sleep for another few hours and recover for her next gig that night.

But as she scanned the groups of people for her family, her thoughts again wandered back to Deacon. Really, she wondered how she had gotten home, and she wondered how _Deacon_ had gotten home. If _she_ had gotten this drunk, wouldn't _he_ have been drunk, too? And would have _driven_ this drunk? Gosh, Rayna hoped that he wouldn't have, but she didn't know! And there was no _way_ for her to find out right now!

She had to wait until Monday to see Deacon again. It was Saturday and she had no idea where he could be or how to get a hold of him, so she'd have to wait the couple days to finally see him at her usual Monday night gig. Rayna didn't know then that this wouldn't be the first time she worried incessantly about Deacon's whereabouts and his well-being, but it might have been the moment where she first realized that she was at least partially in love with him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** Here is the next chapter! I'm so sad to hear about the show's fate, but it will live on forever in our hearts and here on the fanfic site.

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **8**

"Hey."

"Hey." It was five minutes to ten, and it was the usual scene – Deacon was sitting at the back table and Rayna was standing nearby, watching him. His blue eyes were unfocused as they stared at some point above her head, and even in the dim lighting, Rayna could see that he hadn't shaved in a few days. He had been clean-shaved on Friday, but today, he looked simply _awful._

"How're ya doin'?" Deacon didn't answer her but merely took a sip of his beer. He had a couple of empty bottles already set to the side on his table, and Rayna could smell the distinct odor of whiskey.

"Are you drunk?" It was a straightforward question, to be sure, but it was one that needed to be asked. Deacon didn't answer her, and as Watty came over to tap her shoulder, gesturing toward the stage, Rayna felt a shot of pure terror course through her body.

There was only one reason for his behavior, and it had to be that she had done something stupid on Friday. She couldn't remember a thing, but she must have went too far, said something she didn't mean, accidentally let it slip about Belle Meade; she must have done _something_ for him to be treating her like this.

"You're up, Rayna, so look sharp." Watty gestured toward a group of men sitting at one of the front table, notepads sitting neatly in front of them. "Those were the people I was tellin' you about. This is important, so stay focused, alright? I believe in you. Now get on up there."

Tearing her gaze away from Deacon, Rayna nodded and headed toward the stage, feeling a myriad of emotions consume her. This was important, _God_ was it important, but so was Deacon. He was suffering, and it looked like he needed someone to talk to him, needed someone to help him – needed _her._

And she _would,_ after her set. But for now, she had to focus; for now, she had to be strong.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Deacon? Deacon!" As she stepped off the stage, Rayna saw Deacon throw some money on his table and then head toward the door. Watty was standing next to her and saying something about meeting somebody, his face absolutely beaming, but Rayna ignored him. Her eyes trained on the back of Deacon's head, she broke into a run and then followed him out the door.

"Deacon!"

" _What,_ Rayna?" He whipped around to face her right as she approached him. She had to skid to a halt since she was already so close. Their faces were merely inches apart, and again, Rayna took in the entirety of his unshaved face and smelled the strong scent of whiskey.

"What's the matter with you, Deacon?"

"Nothin'." He grunted and then turned around to leave, but Rayna put her hand out and stopped him. She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, and as he stopped and then swiveled his head back to look at her again, she _felt_ it, that current of electricity surging between them. It felt _different_ this time, though, since she was scared at how drunk he was and how cold he was being, but it was still _there,_ and she still wanted to be with him. _Why_ did she still want to be with him so badly?

"Listen," she continued, releasing his arm. He caught it as she let go and grasped it tightly. Surprised, Rayna looked into his eyes to see him staring at her – staring _through_ her – and she felt those damn butterflies run free through her stomach. "I don't know what I said on Friday or what even happened, but I want you to know I –"

"No, Rayna. _You_ listen." He squeezed her hand slightly and then let go, and Rayna felt herself sway a little bit. "I shouldn't have gotten you drunk on Friday. I'm not that kinda guy, but I... I can't always think clearly when I've been drinkin', too."

"What?" Was he _apologizing?_ He looked so _pained._ He moved in a little closer, and it was too much. His breath, his eyes, his face, his _lips..._ "Deacon, I don't know what you're –"

"I'm sorry, Ray." That was the first time he'd ever called her that, and he said it so softly, almost like a whisper. His blue eyes continued to shine sadly at her, and Rayna felt that connection almost overwhelm her.

"It's okay, Deacon." She didn't know what to do, really. What was even happening? _He_ was taking the blame for had happened (whatever had even happened), and he was so vulnerable and so sincere.

"No, it's not. I think I, that I have a problem or somethin', and I don't want to drag you into it."

"But you didn't!" He really hadn't. Rayna had _wanted_ those drinks, so she took them willingly, even when her better judgment told her to stop.

"I should've stopped you, though. I should've been _responsible._ "

It was endearing, really, how sweet he was being. To him everything was falling apart, but to Rayna, she almost felt like things were just beginning. If he cared this much about "being responsible" for her, than he must truly, sincerely care about her. Without even knowing what she was doing, Rayna moved closer and took his hand again, weaving their arms together.

"I had a really good time with you."

"You did?" Deacon's breathing was a bit hitched since their faces were merely inches apart now, blue eyes staring into blue. He didn't pull his arm away.

"Yeah." Another few seconds passed, and Deacon leaned in closer, Rayna leaned in closer, their lips were just about to meet –

"Rayna?" Watty came up from around the corner, and the two broke apart instantly. Watty's eyes widened and Deacon cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Rayna could tell by the way Watty's fists curled and his nostrils flared that he had seen enough.

"Rayna, come inside with me, please."

"Watty, we –"

" _Now,_ Rayna."

Watty _never_ used that kind of tone with Rayna. She'd honestly never heard it directed toward her in all the time that she'd known him. She was always his sweet little songbird, his bright-eyed superstar – his perfect little angel. Rayna realized that usually it was a _father_ who thought of his _daughter_ this way, but in her life, it was Watty. And in that moment, she felt as if she had let him down.

"I – I'll see you later."

"'Kay." Deacon's eyes were down as he wandered off to his truck, and alarm suddenly flashed through Rayna when she remembered just how drunk he was.

"Wait!" Both Watty and Deacon stopped at Rayna's exclaim, and she kept looking between the two of them, feeling torn. She _couldn't_ let Deacon drive in his condition, but she didn't want to make Watty angry. The truth was that it would be best to have Watty drive him home, but how would he react to that? Would Deacon even _allow_ that? But it was the right thing to do!

"Deacon can't drive," Rayna finally said, swallowing hard. "Uncle Watty, we need to drive him home."

"I'm fine, Rayna. I can –"

"You're not, Deacon. You're really not. It's not safe."

"Rayna, c'mon. I'm perfectly –"

"She's right." Both Rayna and Deacon stopped as Watty spoke up and came up to them, his face hard. He had a few wrinkles on his face, but at the moment, they looked more pronounced than ever. "You're in no state to drive, son. Rayna and I have some important business to attend to, but afterwards, I'm taking you home. Get back inside and stay out of sight."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **9**

"You have to end it."

Rayna and Watty were driving in Watty's black Audi Quattro. Watty had dropped Deacon off at his apartment downtown, and now they were on their way back to Belle Meade.

"You're not going to tell Daddy, are you?"

Rayna already had a hard enough time with her father. She had successfully convinced him that she had been getting extra tutoring on Sunday and Monday nights (which wasn't too unbelievable since her math grades _had_ increased over the past few weeks), but he still didn't completely trust her. Rayna was _the problem child,_ and while Tandy could go off and do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, Rayna always had to have a reason. Her father was far too busy to verify her reasons, but still, she always had to have one. Watty had only recently discovered that Rayna's father wasn't aware of all her shows, and now, everything seemed to rest in the palm of his hands.

"I'll let you be the judge of that, but you have to end it." They pulled up into her driveway, but before Rayna could jump out, Watty turned to put a hand on her shoulder. "You know those guys we talked to back there? They're really interested in you."

"They are?" Those were the words that Rayna had waited _years_ to finally hear, but for some reason, they didn't sound as sweet as she had anticipated.

"Yes, Rayna. They think you've got potential, and they're going to be watching you with keen interest. You know what that means, don't you?"

Rayna did. When an artist got to this stage, she had to perform more than ever at top-notch quality. She had to stay within whatever parameters her targeted audience was looking for, and she had to do it all coolly and smartly.

"Yes, Uncle Watty."

"Good." He paused for a moment before moving his hand away and then nodding toward the door. "Get on home, then, but I mean it. You're too young to get involved with a guy like Deacon. He's... You just have to end it."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning, Rayna didn't get out of bed when she woke up. It was Christmas Eve, but she didn't even care.

Closing her eyes again, Rayna rolled over to her side and thought about what had happened the past few days. It was like a whirlwind, really. One minute she was completely head over heels for Deacon, one minute she was worrying incessantly over where he was and how he had gotten home, one minute their lips were millimeters apart, one minute they were both sitting in Watty's Audi, completely broken and humiliated...

How had it come to this? Playing with the lose thread of one of her blankets, Rayna wondered where they had gone wrong. They hadn't made their mutual attraction public. Hell, they both didn't even fully _admit_ it. Yet now they were supposedly involved, and now they had to end it? End it before it even began?

And _then_ there she was, right on the brink of actually getting somewhere with all of this. Those men came from three different labels in Nashville (Cartwheel Records, Sugar Hill records, and the up-and-coming Edgehill), and though "interest" definitely didn't equate to "recording contract," it still meant that things were looking up and that Rayna actually had a chance.

 _I need to talk to him._ There had to be a way. It was Monday, and even though it was Christmas Eve, the coffee shop was bound to be open. If she could just get there and then ask the manager for his number...

"Rayna? Rayna!" It was her father, in his typical good-morning fashion. "Let's _go,_ Rayna. We need to get over to the office."

Per usual, the Wyatt family made an appearance to Wyatt Headquarters on Christmas Eve to pass out presents to the poor. Rayna had completely forgotten about it, but as she heard her father's footsteps fade, she decided that, for once, she was going to do what _she_ wanted and what _she_ had to do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hello?"

"Deacon?"

"Rayna?"

His voice was groggy and slurred. It almost sounded like he was still drunk. Rayna was standing on the corner of the street just outside the coffee shop, isolated in the telephone booth.

"How did you get my number?" Was he _upset_ that he had it? She knew that they'd had a rough night, but he didn't feel the faintest amount of excitement at getting a phone call from her?

"Jimmy at the coffee shop gave it to me. Deacon, we need to talk. We can't leave things the way we did last night."

"Well, I don't think there's really much else to say, Rayna."

"But there is!" Couldn't he see that? "Deacon, I've gotta tell you somethin': some record companies have taken an interest in me."

"They have?" His voice perked up, and Rayna felt relieved to know that he at least showed a glimmer of fascination in their conversation.

"Yeah. A couple of smaller labels in town and then a new one. Watty reckons that this can actually lead somewhere, and I... I really want to play some of your songs."

She did. Watty had ardently advised her _not_ to do this and had very logical and clear reasons for it, but Rayna didn't care. As a new artist carving out her identity in the country music world, she wanted to do it _right; s_ he wanted to do it _her_ way and to show everyone who she was and who she wanted to be.

"That probably isn't the best idea, Rayna."

"I don't care." Rayna's voice was fierce, and whether she knew it or not, it took on the kind of independent integrity that would come to define her career. "I think you've got a talent for this kind of thing, and I want to showcase that the next time I play for these people."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are you sure about this?" It was the first Monday of the New Year, and Rayna was sitting with Deacon on the open tailgate of his pickup truck. They were in the bar's parking lot, and it was about an hour before she had to go on.

"One hundred percent," Rayna answered, and she turned to smile at him. They'd spent the past few days going through his song archives and even dabbling with their own, and tonight those label representatives would be back, scrutinizing her every move.

"Wanna take it from the top one more time?" Deacon returned her smile, his eyes – his bright, clear, beautiful blue eyes – melting into hers. "Just to make sure?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Please give it up for Miss Rayna Jaymes!" The crowd cheered as Rayna headed over to the stage, hugging the lead guitarist before taking her seat on her wooden stool.

"Thank y'all so much," Rayna said into the microphone, waiting for the noise to die down. "I'm very happy to be here tonight. Actually, I'm excited to say that I'll be playin' something new tonight with a very talented guitar player and songwriter that I know. Deacon, you wanna come up here?"

From his seat on the edge of the stage, Watty's face hardened as Deacon jumped up on the stage, grabbing an extra stool and sitting down next to Rayna. Her heart was pounding as she glanced at Watty, glanced at Deacon, and glanced at the three label reps assembled in the front, but she felt Deacon lay his hand on her thigh.

"Don't worry 'bout them," he whispered, his eyes holding her there on that stage. "You ready?"

As Deacon started to play the first few chords of his new song, the melody swirling through Rayna's ears, she started to relax. She knew this song well by now, and with Deacon up there playing it with her, she knew that she'd be able to pull it off.

" _Sitting here tonight,_ " she began, her eyes still glued to Deacon's. " _By the fire light, it reminds me I already have more than I should."_

The band started to fall into beat beside them, and looking out briefly to the crowd, Rayna saw people's heads nodding along to the rhythm.

" _I don't need things."_ His voice blended in with hers now, harmonizing perfectly. " _No one to know my name. At the end of the day, Lord I pray, I have a life that's good."_

 _"Two arms around me,"_ she started _._

 _"Heaven to ground me,"_ he finished.

 _"And a family that always calls me home."_

The backup singers started to weave in to their alternating lines, adding a sort of soft, blissful feel to it.

" _Four wheels to get there."_

 _"Enough love to share and a sweet, sweet, sweet song."_

 _"A sweet, sweet song,"_ he added behind her, grinning.

 _"At the end of the day,"_ they concluded together _, "Lord I pray, I have a life that's good."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Ah, nothing like a little nostalgia! It's so sad to see this series come to an end, but hey, that's why we write fan fiction, isn't? So that these stories and characters never truly end? Thanks so much for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** So sorry for the delay! Life has gotten a bit crazy. Here's the next chapter (number 10 already!), and I really hope you like it! I've really enjoyed writing from young Rayna's POV, and I'm excited to write more of her story.

Please let me know what you think of the story so far! Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **10**

"Rayna," Watty fumed the moment her foot stepped off the stage, "I don't know what the _hell_ you think you're –"

"Bravo, Miss Jaymes!" Before Watty could finish, the trio of label reps were there, clapping and eyeing Rayna thoughtfully. Watty gave them a forced smile as they arranged themselves around her, and she looked behind her to see Deacon ducking around behind them.

"And to this young man!" One of the men scooped him up and brought him over. Deacon's hair was ruffled, but he was still grinning over at Rayna. "What an impressive performance! Have you two been playing together long?"

"This was actually our first time singing together."

" _Really_!" The one man (Joshua Hollins from Sugar Hill) was absolutely beaming, and Watty cleared his throat again – the same dismissive sound he'd be doing the past few months whenever Deacon was around.

"Yes, they had a fantastic performance together, but wouldn't you agree that Rayna's rendition of 'I'm Not Lonely Yet' was just incredible?" He was desperate, Rayna knew, to bring the focus back to Rayna and Rayna alone, but the reps just weren't having it.

"Oh, yes, it was very good," said Peter Ramul from Cartwheel. "Very emotive and rich. But Deacon, did you write that song especially for Rayna, or was it something you've had for a while?"

His face a tad redder than usual, Deacon answered, "I wrote it after meeting her, yeah," and the group continued to talk about other country artists and different kinds of guitars. Rayna nodding along to the conversation but couldn't help her mind from reeling. _Did that mean he wrote it_ _ **for**_ _me?_ _ **About**_ _me, even?_

"Well, Watty," said Daniel Freeman from Edgehill, "it's been a pleasure. Miss Jaymes, it was lovely hearing you sing again, and we look forward to seeing more of you. And perhaps we'll hear more of both you and Mr. Claybourne together?"

Watty looked as though he were about to throw something, but Rayna merely smiled, her eyes locking with Deacon's. "Thank you, sir. We'll see."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"That was _insane_." After giving Watty the slip, Rayna and Deacon ended up hopping into his pickup and driving down some lonely country roads on the outskirts of the city. It was one o'clock in the morning and Rayna had school and Deacon had work the next morning, but they didn't care. They stopped by a clear, open field and sat out on the tailgate again, looking up at the stars. "I can't believe we did that and that they _liked_ it!"

"I knew it would be a good idea." Smiling over at him, Rayna took in the fluff of his hair swaying in the wind and the shine of the moonlight gleaming on his face. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. She'd known with all of her heart that performing with him would be nothing short of wonderful, and sitting there on that tailgate with him, she felt like the entire world was in the palm of her hands.

"You were really great today," she continued, inching a little closer to him. "You made me feel... Calm. Like I could do anything."

He turned around to look at her, returning her smile, and Rayna's heart twisted again. He was so handsome, so talented, and so good with her. He hadn't been drinking tonight, so his eyes were perfectly clear and his breath minty fresh, and it didn't take long before Rayna leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

They were warm and moist as they moved in rhythm with hers, just like how their voices had harmonized back at the bar. It was like he instinctively knew where it felt good and how she liked it, and Rayna felt her breathing pick up. She put her arm around his neck and the other on his chest as their kissing gained intensity, and she felt him put both of his around her waist, just above her rear.

"God," he breathed after a while, pulling away to lean his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes. "You're so damn beautiful, Rayna."

He thought she was _beautiful._ Rayna stared back, moving a hand to trace the outline of his jaw. She hadn't really been _involved_ with a boy before and so couldn't really compare it to anything, but a part of her wondered if she was in love. It was fun to be with Deacon and the chemistry between them was painful at times, but Rayna felt a real connection between them that felt stronger than anything she'd ever felt before.

 _You have to end it._ Watty's voice rang through Rayna's brain as Deacon leaned forward again to claim her lips, slipping in his tongue. _You're too young to get involved with a guy like Deacon. He's... You just have to end it._

What did Watty mean by that? As far as Rayna could tell, Deacon was a great guy. Sure, he drank too much sometimes, but it had only been a problem the one time. He'd gotten her home safely that one night and didn't seem to drink every night, so what could go wrong? How bad could it possibly get?

As Rayna sat there on the bed of his truck and moved her hands to explore more of his body, there wasn't anything in the world that could keep them apart. Not Watty, not Daddy, not Tandy – not anyone or anything. Whatever it was that they were doing was working out just fine, and it was exactly what Rayna needed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** I'm so sorry for the delay! But, YAY, Nashville is coming back for season 5! I'm so excited, and I'm very eager to keep up with my Nashville fanfic stories!

So, here's chapter 11! Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **11**

"What time you gotta be home?" They were panting slightly in Deacon's truck. It was a Friday night and they were parked on the side of the road. "I really wish you'd let me drive you there."

"I already told you that my Daddy doesn't want me dating anyone." Rayna leaned forward and pressed her lips against his once more, taking in their warmth and moisture. "Just drop me off for the ten o'clock bus."

"A'ight, darlin'." He put a hand on her face and then leaned in again, his tongue dancing with hers.

"Well," she said after a couple minutes, her breath hitched again, "maybe the ten thirty bus."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Randy Travis is comin' to the Ryman?" Twisting the phone's cord, Rayna was stretched across her bed, her mouth gaping from where her head hung over the edge. "No way!"

"He sure is," said Deacon on the other line, "and guess what?"

"What?"

"I got us tickets."

Rayna let out a squeal and then sat up, her bun falling out of place on her head. "Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"Deacon! That's great!"

"Yeah, well, I thought you deserved a bit of a treat."

Things were going really well between the two of them. February had arrived and they had been playing together regularly at Rayna's Monday night gig. They weren't quite _singing_ together, though – per Watty's demands, Deacon played as her guitarist on stage whenever they needed one, which created a weird sort of powerful chemistry that even Watty couldn't deny. Apparently Rayna was right on the cusp of getting to talk seriously with Edgehill, so Watty had to bite his tongue and let them keep doing what they were doing since it was working.

It was all so strange and so incredible, really. Deacon had quit his job at the coffee shop and got a job at the Blue Bird, which was a place legendary for country music artists – aspiring and established alike. Rayna had been plugging away at school with the sincere hopes of getting her GED by the end of the school year, and her father still didn't know about _any_ of this, which was truly a miracle.

They were both simply doing what they loved and starting to make actual names of themselves.

Deacon started laughing at Rayna's best Randy Travis impersonation, and Rayna felt her heart flutter. She loved his laugh and the way it made him sound so _boyish._ She'd been spending more time with him lately since they'd play together and even started writing together, and even though Watty continued to hassle her about it, she didn't care. Things were absolutely _perfect._

"Oh, shoot." Rayna heard footsteps down the hall, so she jumped out of bed and went over to her nightstand. "I gotta go, Deacon. I'll call you later."

Just as Rayna put the phone back on the receiver and plopped back down on her bed, her bedroom door swung open and her father appeared in the frame, looking murderous.

"Get up," he ordered, his eyes glaring into hers. "Get up and get downstairs. Now."

"Why?" Rayna stood up, but she didn't move toward the door. "What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Get downstairs, Rayna."

"But why?"

"Don't _make_ me drag you down there!"

Something was wrong. Even though her father was an asshole, he _never_ was quite this bad. Feeling her body stiffen with fear and apprehension, Rayna obeyed and made her way down the stairs, aware of her father following close behind her.

"Tandy?" Her sister was waiting for them downstairs in the living room, and the look on her face said it all: he _knew_.

"So," said Lamar once Rayna was seated beside Tandy. Their shoulders were brushing, but they weren't looking at each other. "So."

 _How much did he know?_ Rayna didn't dare look at Tandy. She didn't know for sure that her father knew about her performances, but that was the most likely possibility in this case. Why else would he be so livid? What else could make him flare up like this?

He had been this was with Rayna's mother, too. He had _hated_ how she always went out to play shows and how she spent so much time with Watty in the studio because he just didn't _understand._ To him, success and happiness only came from having a lot of money and working in the business sector. It's what he intended Tandy to do after she went to college, and it's what he had hinted that he wanted Rayna to do, too, though he understand the complications of her academics and lack of motivation.

"I want you to explain _this_ to me." Lamar threw down a stack of photographs, the first one being one of Rayna singing on stage at her Monday night gig. Rayna's eyes widened as she picked up the pictures and leafed through them, her heart stopping when she found one of her and Deacon laughing at their table.

"Who is that, Rayna?"

"No one," she whispered, her eyes locked on Deacon's face, so keenly shaved and alive in the photo.

"His name is Deacon Claybourne," Lamar answered for her, "and he's a seventeen year-old high school dropout from Mississippi who used to work at the coffee shop you frequented and who purchases far too much alcohol with a fake ID."

"How do you know all of this?" Rayna snapped her head up to glare at him, feeling her pressure rise. It was one thing to have a private investigator follow her around at night, but it was another to do a complete background check on one of her acquaintances. It was psychotic, really, and Rayna felt herself grow angrier and angrier with each passing second.

And most importantly, Rayna thought, if Daddy knew about Deacon, did _Deacon_ know about _Daddy_?

"I had you followed, of course, and I looked into all of your associations."

"How _could_ you?" Rayna howled, throwing the pictures down on the table and jumping up to stand in front of him. "Don't you respect my privacy? Don't you even care that you're being such a _dick_?"

"I respect your privacy, Rayna," Lamar drawled, "but I _don't_ respect you lying to me and sneaking around. You couldn't have been foolish enough to think that I believed you had private tutoring all the time, could you? And that your C average, while an improvement, was indicative of such tutoring?"

How _could_ Rayna have been so foolish! That excuse only could have worked for so long. This was really all her fault for getting sloppy and for thinking that everything could go exactly the way she wanted. Perhaps she'd gotten too caught up in her other life or perhaps she just didn't care, but he hadn't been careful, and it came back to bite her.

At this point, Rayna turned around to glare at Tandy. "Did you tell him, then? Just _had_ to get the best of me, huh?" Rayna had _trusted_ her sister. Tandy was fierce and strict and uptight, but Rayna had thought that she was at least still _loyal._

"Rayna, I didn't even fully _know_ what you were doing!" Tandy answered, her eyes pained as she looked back and forth from Lamar to Rayna. "I knew you were up to _something,_ but not all this! Rayna, it's not very smart and not very safe. You need to get your head out of the clouds."

"My head is just fine!" Out of frustration, Rayna stomped her foot and crossed her arms. This couldn't be happening. After all these months of hard work, after how far she'd come, after everything she sacrificed…

"What happens now," Lamar continued, his arms crossed and his eyes cold, "is that you cut all activity. I've already contacted Mr. Watty White, and I daresay that there won't be anymore late night gigs for you, young lady."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nashville or any of its music, characters, and dialogue.**

 **A/N:** Hey everyone! I know it's been SUCH a long time since I've updated this story, but I had most of this chapter already written, and I'm ready to get back into writing. I'm a graduate student with an INSANE amount of responsibilities, so my updates may not be frequent until I have more time over the Christmas break.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think of the story!

* * *

 **Nashville's Sweetheart**

 **12**

"Rayna?"

"Hey." Turning left off the sidewalk, Rayna raced over to Deacon and then fell into his arms, kissing his lips swiftly before hugging him tight. "I've missed you."

Things had been ugly since her father discovered her secret life. He'd made it clear to Watty and to everyone else of importance that Rayna was _not_ allowed to perform and would _not_ be signing any kind of label contract. He had also imprisoned Rayna to her bedroom for three weeks straight, keeping a watchful eye on her this time while cutting down the tree outside her window.

She'd missed Randy Travis at the Ryman and missed three entire weeks' worth of gigs. Her spot was probably already given away by now, and as Deacon held her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, it was all she could do to not completely lose it.

He still didn't understand the extent of it, though. He knew that her father had banned her from playing, but he didn't know who her father _was_ and what kind of life she led. Rayna didn't have the heart to tell him, but she knew that she had to do so eventually. Her father _did_ know about _Deacon,_ after all, though Rayna didn't know how.

"It's all gonna work out, Rayna."

"But how?"

"Watty isn't gonna let you down, not after what y'all have been through."

It was embarrassing, really, to have listened to her father shout at Watty on the phone that day, but it would be even _more_ embarrassing to face Watty tonight at the Blue Bird. "You sure he's gonna be here tonight, Deacon?"

"Oh, I'm sure. He's always around on the busiest nights. You ready?"

He took her hand into his, and Rayna felt so incredibly _safe_. It's true that she hadn't known Deacon for very long, but in the time that she _has_ known him, he'd never broken her heart, trampled her dreams, or made her feel any less than what she was and could be. And that was worth something, even if Rayna didn't know exactly what.

"Yeah," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. He smiled, and she smiled back. "Let's do this."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, a special performance featuring the up-and-coming yougins Deacon Claybourne and Rayna Jaymes!"

People clapped as Deacon and Rayna headed over to the stage. Rayna smiled at them, waving in her usual shy manner, but she felt her insides stir uncomfortably. This was her first time back on stage in three entire weeks, and they were going to perform one of Deacon's new songs. What if she lost her rhythm? What if she absolutely _sucked_?

"You got this, babe." Deacon put his hand out and helped her onto the stage, his clear blue eyes gazing into hers. "Don't worry about nothin'."

His words were soothing, and as the band began to play and the lights dimmed, Rayna started to feel that fmaiiar surge and peace and confidence. She was doing what she loved, and she was doing something that she was good at. She was doing what she was _meant_ to be doing.

"Don't you try to tell me someone's waitin'. They're not waitin' for you."

It was ironic, really – _was_ anyone waiting for Rayna? Some of the label heads were there, but were they still interested in her? Had her father scared her off?

"Oh and don't you try to tell me that you're wanted, that you're needed, 'cause it's not true. I know why you're lonely." She and Deacon locked eyes, and that spark was there, as it always was. "It's time you knew it, too."

"No one will ever love you, no one will ever love you; no one will ever love you like I do."

It was his turn now, and Rayna stared directly at him, waiting.

"Why're you always lookin' for the limelight?" He was looking at her, and it felt like he was singing directly _to_ her. "Ain't you satisfied with me?"

 _I am,_ Rayna thought, feeling her breath catch a little bit. _I've never been more satisfied._

"Oh for once why don't you get down off your high heels. You're no big deal. Can't you see?"

They sung the chorus, this time together, and by the time they reached the bridge, it was as if no one else was in the room.

"I'm all you've got," she sang.

"I'm all you'll ever need," he sang back, his eyes again lost in hers.

"I'm all you'll ever have."

"Have," he echoed, moving forward to put a hand on her knee. It was electrifying, and for a moment, Rayna felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would work out after all. She felt safe when she was with Deacon, _right_ when she was with him, and all she had to do was keep it up. Together, they could do anything, _be_ anything. For the first time in what would be her long singing career, Rayna considered the thought that there would be no Rayna Jaymes without Deacon Claybourne.


End file.
